The one where John gets injured
by Fezzes at 221b
Summary: John and Sherlock go on a case to keep an eye on an assassin who is after Mycroft. But it goes wrong and John is injured. It's going to end three different ways. Based on a Tumblr post. Feels.
1. Chapter 1

Aubade was dangerous, Lestrade had told them as such. She was an assassin and had been trained by the best.

She had also been paid to kill Mycroft.

Sherlock had only taken the case because John had asked him and they were being paid to keep an eye on her.

Bloody hell, John didn't even know how they had expected that to work out.

Anyway, they were currently dashing around back alleys of London and John had a massive knife slash across his chest and stomach.

"Sherlock..." He wheezed. The consulting detective stopped and turned, his coat flapping.

"John, now is-" he ended in a gasp. John was leaning on the wall, his hand trying to cover up his wound. He had been slashed a full eight minutes ago, when Sherlock had been momentarily unconscious. She had throw a knife at him and ran out. Sherlock had gotten up seconds later and tore after her. He hadn't seen it.

"John!" Sherlock ran over as John slumped to the ground.

"John, John it's okay. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"Sherlock..." He gasped again, reaching a blood soaked hand up to his friends chest.

"Go after her. I'm... I'm useless... You can get her..."

Sherlock whipped his scarf off and pressed it to John's wound.

"It's okay. I'm not leaving. Shush, it's okay."

John coughed. He couldn't breath. Not properly.

Sherlock dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Still holding John, he dialled a number.

"Hello, I need an ambulance. My friend was stabbed... He's losing blood... He's conscious. In the alley on Walters street. Please be quick."

He hung up and left the phone at his side.

He got his hand under John and pushed him back, his hand cradling his head.

John's eyes half closed.

"Sherlock. I'm sorry. I should've been care-"

"Shut up. I'm the one who went in without checking and I should've been watching you."

John gasped in another breath and rattled it out again.

Sherlock buried his head into John' shoulder, his heart was breaking.

"Sherl..." Rasped John and his eyes fluttered closed.

"John? John!" Sherlock shook his friend.

His breath was fading, his blood oozing out rather than gushing.

Tears streamed down his face.

"John, John... Please."

He could hear his heart beating, faster than John's groggy one.

John gasped suddenly, his eyes flying open.

Where was Sherlock?

The pain in his chest was too much to sit up, but as his head cleared a bit from the pain, he realised there was a folded coat under his head and a scarf on his chest.

"Is this what it felt like? For you? When I- Oh God, John I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

**GUESS WHO HAS FREAKING TICKETS FOR DAN AND PHIL'S TOUR?**

**YUS THAT'S RIGHT!**

**I'm sorry I've not been on, but on my story Destiel Meetings I explained. I went to a camp, got stuck 10 feet above the ground on a zip wire, freaked someone out by making a Supernatural reference (Becky and Sam, where Becky kidnapped Sam) and overdosed on Vanilla Coke and chocolate spread.**

**All in all, it was fun. **

**Song of the day: Safe and Sound, by Capital Cities.**

**What's your favourite song?**

**Hope you had a better day than me (accidently showed up to school 20 mins late...) **

**Fez.**


	2. Chapter 2

**This isn't the same one, kids. This is the same scenario but with a different reactions from, you guessed it, Tumblr.**

**There'll probably only be three chapters, which I will finish now. **

Aubade was dangerous, Lestrade had told them as such. She was an assassin and had been trained by the best.

She had also been paid to kill Mycroft.

Sherlock had only taken the case because John had asked him and they were being paid to keep an eye on her.

Bloody hell, John didn't even know how they had expected that to work out.

Anyway, they were currently dashing around back alleys of London and John had a massive knife slash across his chest and stomach.

"Sherlock..." He wheezed. The consulting detective stopped and turned, his coat flapping.

"John, now is-" he ended in a gasp. John was leaning on the wall, his hand trying to cover up his wound. He had been slashed a full eight minutes ago, when Sherlock had been momentarily unconscious. She had throw a knife at him and ran out. Sherlock had gotten up seconds later and tore after her. He hadn't seen it.

Sherlock ran to John and shakily set hum down. Tears begun to spring to his eyes, as he looked at his best friend, half dead on the floor.

"W-what do I do?" Muttered Sherlock, staring helplessly at the slash.

"Press down on it with s-something. Call an ambulance..." Breathed John, his eyes fluttering.

Sherlock pulled off his scarf, the one John had given him, and pushed on the wound. Fumbling in his pocket, he pulled out his phone.

"Sherlock. Sh, sh. Don't cry. Press on it, hard... I need to stay awake."

"Okay, okay." Tears still streaming down his face, Sherlock pressed on the already blood-soaked scarf, hardly seeing through the tears.

A short phonecall later, they could hear the sirens in the distance.

"I'm so sorry, Sherl..."

John's eyes fluttered closed, just as Sherlock's overfilled.

"John? John! John please!?"


	3. Chapter 3

Aubade was dangerous, Lestrade had told them as such. She was an assassin and had been trained by the best.

She had also been paid to kill Mycroft.

Sherlock had only taken the case because John had asked him and they were being paid to keep an eye on her.

Bloody hell, John didn't even know how they had expected that to work out.

Anyway, they were currently dashing around back alleys of London and John had a massive knife slash across his chest and stomach.

"Sherlock..." He wheezed. The consulting detective stopped and turned, his coat flapping.

"John, now is-" he ended in a gasp. John was leaning on the wall, his hand trying to cover up his wound. He had been slashed a full eight minutes ago, when Sherlock had been momentarily unconscious. She had throw a knife at him and ran out. Sherlock had gotten up seconds later and tore after her. He hadn't seen it.

John's knees trembled, then completely gave out. Scraping his hand down the wall, he shivered, feeling the blood oozing out between his fingers.

"John? John, it's going to be okay."

But it was too late, not even Sherlock, the human who tried to be a god, could shrug off a knife wound that had been bleeding for eight whole minutes.

With his dying breath, John Holmes looked up at his husband's shimmering greeny blue eyes.

"Look after Hamish... Love you..."

"John..." Sherlock' voice cracked.

"Aww, " Cooed a female voice. Sherlock raised his eyes, seeing a girl, hardly out of her teens, grinning down at him from a few meters away. Aubade.

She was dressed in tight leather, holsters and sheaths sewn into the fabric. She played with a lethal knife in her slim, gloved hands.

As she turned it over, it caught the faint streetlight.

It was smeared with blood.

"What's the matter? Lover boy died?" the girl pouted mockingly.

John's blood.

"Too baaaaad."

She killed him.

"Brother dearest next?"

He owed it to John.

"And then that nice house-lady..."

Slowly he reached into the inner pockets of his trenchcoat.

"And the detective..."

He lowered his lips to John's cold ones.

"I'm sorry my love."

You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.

John was the hero.

Guess what that made Sherlock?

"The game, Sherlock Holmes," the girl jeered in a deep voice "Is on."

"Indeed."

And the bullet hit her between the shoulder blades as she turned to run. Her mocking smile still on her lips.


	4. Chapter 4

Aubade was dangerous, Lestrade had told them as such. She was an assassin and had been trained by the best.

She had also been paid to kill Mycroft.

Sherlock had only taken the case because John had asked him and they were being paid to keep an eye on her.

Bloody hell, John didn't even know how they had expected that to work out.

Anyway, they were currently dashing around back alleys of London and John had a massive knife slash across his chest and stomach.

"Sherlock..." He wheezed. The consulting detective stopped and turned, his coat flapping.

"John, now is-" he ended in a gasp. John was leaning on the wall, his hand trying to cover up his wound. He had been slashed a full eight minutes ago, when Sherlock had been momentarily unconscious. She had throw a knife at him and ran out. Sherlock had gotten up seconds later and tore after her. He hadn't seen it.

John stumbled a step forward and slammed to his knees, jarring his whole body.

He clutched at the wound, feeling another spurt of blood leak out between his fingers.

"John..." Sherlock's voice cracked. "H-how long?"

"Eight? Ten? Minutes..."

Sherlock hugged John around the shoulders.

"I'm so sorry, John."

"Sherlock,"

John swayed and fell into Sherlock, who cradled him on his lap, tears soaking his hair.

He curved his body over John's broken one, protecting him against the night.

Through his tears, Sherlock began to hum, it was raspy and caught at the end of each bar, but John recognised it.

As john took in his last few breaths, Sherlock whispered in his ear.

"That was supposed to be our waltz."

As the man who had survived a war, who had lived through two years of doubt, depression and guilt died in his best friends arms, he lifted his head towards the dark sky, which had begun to pour and crash with thunder, and screamed in anger and misery and for the things that had never been.

And, over the rooftops, a girl, twirling a knife, garnished with congealed blood, heard and laughed. With a mocking smirk on her lips, she begun to leap over the buildings of London to Parliament.

Right now, she couldn't fail.


End file.
